I Look At You Like The Stars That Shine
by MakeMeWhole
Summary: Long one-shot following Finn and Rachel from the end of 2x22 throughout the summer before their senior year. Please review and I'll love you forever.


i.

Mr. Schue goes over what he thinks went wrong with their performance – aside from the very public display of affection from the two team captains before their big group number. Finn still feels bad about it, but he and Rachel talked it out – no regrets. Losing is never fun, but kissing each other was worth it.

And Mr. Schue kind of has a point – the songs they wrote were great and the performances went well, but they could have been better, and it was unprofessional for them as a team to go to New York so unprepared. It probably wasn't just the kiss that landed them 12th place. But everything in life is a lesson for the future. And next year, they'll be better.

"Rest your voices," he concludes. "This time next year…that Nationals title is ours. And you can graduate as national champions."

Everyone cheers and claps and scatters, and Finn looks over at Rachel, who beams back at him, her fingers kneading the material over his knee. His stomach kind of rolls over itself inside. Graduation is a year away, but a year goes by really fast, and he's scared. He's always hated change, and a big change is on its way. A huge change.

But he doesn't want to worry about that right now.

"Come on," he says. "I'll take you home."

He almost forgot how perfectly her hand fits in his. And how soft her little fingers are. And how it felt when she looked up at him with her big sparkling eyes and smiled so wide that her dimples peeked out.

Their walk from the school isn't without the obvious surprise from their peers, giving them curious looks and whispering things in the halls and parking lot.

"_Dude, look."_

"_Them again?" _

"_Wasn't he with Quinn Fabray like, a week ago?"_

He just grips her hand tighter.

ii.

He pulls up to her house, puts the truck in park and shuts it off, hearing the engine cut abruptly. She's fiddling with her hands – something she only did when she was nervous or uncomfortable. He slides away from the steering wheel, leaning far across the seat to pull her into his arms.

It's like old times, at least to him. He would always bring her to and from school, and he'd look forward to their goodbye kiss throughout the entire school day.

But now she's hesitant and timid, peculiarly shy, and he runs his hand down her arm gently in an act to calm whatever awkward nerves she feels. He tilts his head toward her, hoping she'll meet his gaze, but her eyes remain distracted. "Hey," he says gently.

She blinks, dazedly looking down at his chest, and he can tell she's thinking hard about something. Her hand moves up to rest against his chest, where his heart is, and he thinks of how she taught him that - on _that_ day – the one that now feels like so long ago. She licks her lips, staring at her own fingers, before she catches his eye again. He cradles her, his hands touching fingers to fingers around her waist now. She somewhat relaxes into his embrace.

She closes her eyes and rests her face against his shoulder, nuzzling into his neck as he leans in further to pull her against him. He buries his face in her hair, inhaling deeply and filling his lungs with the familiar scent of her body lotion and perfume. Not much has changed. She still feels and smells the same. Her skin is just as smooth. She smells just as sweet, as good. And he really missed this. And he really missed her. So, so much. This is the most contact they've had in a long time. Too long.

She pulls back to look at him, her eyes now glossy with budding tears. He shakes his head. "What's wrong?" She replaces her hand on his heart again. He looks down at it, concerned.

"Nothing," she whispers. "It just…feels good to be like this again."

She avoids eye contact some more, like if she looked into his eyes she wouldn't be able to get this out. "I missed it, you know? Everything. You driving me home, and…kissing me goodbye or coming in to spend time with me and with my fathers." She lets her hand slide down his belly, her palm loose against his side. "For so long, I never thought I'd get you back," she says, still looking down. "I'd hoped, but…you were just so far away."

He knows exactly what she means. He missed it too. Their routines, their inside jokes, their weekend movie marathons. Her smile. Her laugh. Her kisses. Her listening. Her patience. Her baking. Them. Rachel was his girlfriend, but she was his best friend, too. And when they broke up, he lost both at the same time.

"I'm not going anywhere," he says, confidently. "Not anymore."

He reaches a hand up to brush the hair away from her face. She leans into his palm, kissing his wrist as their foreheads touch, and he feels her eyelashes graze his cheeks, and her warm, shallow breath against his lips. His other hand stays planted at her waist, and with a quick, deep inhale, he takes her bottom lip into his mouth. She clutches his collar, rumpling the material of his shirt tightly in her fist. Her hand moves to grip the back of the hand that now tangles in her hair as his lips move over hers.

His ears start ringing. He feels the heat pool in his cheeks and the pit of his stomach. This was so much better than fireworks. Her lips are warm and sweet and familiar, and it kills him that he ever doubted his relationship with her, or his intense attraction and magnetic pull to this tiny girl with the golden voice. She pulls back, breathless, her lips swollen and glistening. Their top lips still pressed together, he leans in again for one last kiss before they break apart completely.

"Maybe you could come by tomorrow?" she says. "I can bake you something."

They don't have school tomorrow – only a few finals scattered throughout the week. Oh, the joys of being upper classmen.

"I'll be here."

She slides out of his truck as light as a feather, closing the door gently and lingering for a moment to smile at him through the window. She waves at him and he waits until she's inside before he pulls away from the curb.

And he knows everything is okay again.

iii.

He sleeps in the next morning after a long night of texting Rachel and playing video games. He's got to start getting used to that summer routine. He showers and picks out a clean t-shirt and tells her he's on his way a little before 1 o' clock.

She leaves the door unlocked for him, but he knocks anyway, and she answers the door with her hair tied back and a purple apron on, and the delicious scent of baked goods fills his nose as he walks in. And he kisses her long and hard right there in the doorway. It's nice to know that he can kiss her whenever he wants to again.

She pulls back and he takes his shoes off and leaves them in the corner. She holds his hand and pulls him toward the kitchen. Her house looks different and she comments on how they painted and got new couch pillows and a new coffee table. He nods as his eyes scan by the room fast. He hates that he was away long enough to miss little things like redecoration.

"I made your favorite," she says as they reach the kitchen, and she points to the table at a fresh loaf of banana bread, still warm in its pan. He grunts in culinary excitement. He hasn't eaten yet today. She pushes him into the seat at the head of the table and he eats half of the loaf before she can pour him a glass of milk or get him a napkin.

"So good," he mumbles, before his chugs the milk. She smiles with pride, turning away from him to open the oven.

"What else are you making?" he asks.

She closes the oven and turns it off, sliding her hands out of her matching purple oven mitts. "I'm experimenting with new recipes. I'm making some cranberry walnut bread. One of my dads really loves cranberries."

He wipes his mouth and slides in his chair to face her. She folds up her apron on the counter and begins wrapping the rest of the banana bread in aluminum foil for him to take home. She reaches for his plate and glass, but his hands find her waist and he pulls her close to stand between his legs. She's wearing a light colored, checkered sun dress with no shoes and her legs are shiny and smooth and perfect and he can't resist. His lips muffle her giggles. She feels his teeth against her lips, showing her he's smiling, and he tastes like bananas and his hair is still damp and he smells like dryer sheets and boyish soap.

"Come on," she whispers, and she pulls him to his feet and leads him out of the room. They walk past her living room again and past her front door and his shoes, and she leads him upstairs to her bedroom door. His stomach flips as she opens the door and he's nervous and excited and wondering what she's going to do.

Her room looks the same. Everything is where it was when he last saw it – even her stuffed animals are in the same spots on her bed. She pulls him with her as they sit on the side of it and she takes those stuffed animals and places them on the floor, gently, neatly, keeping her room pristine in every way she can. His hand finds her waist again as she faces him and he notices a smear of flour or the bread mix on the corner of her forehead. He weakly, adoringly smiles and brushes it off with this thumb and tucks pieces of her bangs behind her ear, taking the opportunity to bury his face in the crook of her neck.

"Finn," she whispers. He hears his name, but doesn't stop. He plants small kisses along her warm skin. "Finn…I think we should talk." He was afraid she would say that. He stops dead, and pulls back, waiting for whatever she has to say. He knew they would have to talk eventually about…everything, but he hadn't thought about what he would tell her yet, and how.

"I just want to put everything out there," she says. "I want to make sure we're really honest with each other and there are no secrets or weirdness or – or fighting."

He wants all of that too, but he doesn't know where they're supposed to start. From the beginning? From last year or from the breakup onward? She seems to know the answer and gets him off the hook with having to start somewhere.

"I know I've asked you this before, but it still confuses me and I've tried so hard to understand or see it from your perspective. I've tried for months and sometimes a part of me understands, but I want to hear it from you." The ways she's talking makes him nervous and he mentally asks her to just say it so the tension will break. _What? What is it?_

"I just want to know what made you want to be with Quinn again." _Oh, great. _"After everything she did to you. Everything she said and how she lied and treated you the way she did…why did you want to go back to that? When we were together you always talked about how your relationship with her was always stressful because she was never happy, and when she got pregnant things just got worse. So why, after everything, did you pursue her the way you did? Even when she was with Sam."

He's silent and awkward and mulling it over in his head. He's thought about it too. And it's bothered him too and baffled him too and he thinks about how he used to punch doors and cry into his pillow at night because he was so fucking hurt and so fucking confused and even more fucking alone. And now he knows he has to be honest with himself, and honest with her because she deserves that much after having to sit there and watch him with Quinn, feeling just as bemused and angry and alone.

"I was just …confused." He shakes his head. "My heart was broken."

And then it all comes out. He doesn't stop talking, confessing, trying to explain what kind of mental break he had in the easiest way possible.

"I think it was easier to forgive Quinn for what she did because I was never really invested in her or our relationship when we were together…the way I was with us. What she did with Puck sucked and really hurt because they didn't care about me enough not to hurt and lie to me. And for a long time I pretended like losing all respect for them was something I could deal with. But I was angrier at myself for being so stupid and for believing them and letting her trick me for so long. And I was stupid for dragging you into that and wishing I could hide with you and hurting you and doing nothing but push you into Jesse's arms."

He doesn't even look at Rachel. He looks down at his thighs or at the carpet or the wall. And he talks animatedly with his hands while she sits and watches and comprehends, and falls in love with him more.

"But being with Quinn was easy," he continues. "I thought Quinn and I were supposed to be together because I'm the quarterback and she was the head cheerleader, and we made sense and people liked us and rooted for us and it was easy when everything seemed mapped out. We would win Homecoming King and Queen and go to Prom and just…be simple. And even though we had so much baggage and drama, I didn't care. I didn't care that she was with Sam. I thought you and me didn't work out because maybe I was supposed to be someone else – not the person for you, but the person I would have been if we'd never met and I stayed with Quinn. I stopped caring because my heart was already broken, and I thought for so long that I wasn't good enough for you and that I never would be, so I should just go back to the way things used to be."

He swallows deeply, still staring at anything but her. She wants to cry and hug and kiss him and tell him a million times over that he _is_ good enough and that she's sorry and he doesn't have to be afraid anymore. But he keeps talking.

"And I liked how easy it was for a while. I hated that you were hurting, but I…I liked not having to care about myself getting hurt again. Quinn had her mood swings and wasn't nice all the time – and it was tough being her boyfriend sometimes. But it was easier on my heart. It was easier because I knew I wouldn't feel like my chest was exploding if something happened to make us break up. With you…what happened after sectionals…it just killed me. You knew how much it sucked having my best friend and girlfriend betray me together, but you went and did it again. And I didn't know how to face you anymore. I knew I _really _loved you and that you wished it didn't happen…but I just couldn't forgive you for that."

Her heart beat funny, and an intense sadness came over her seeing the pain on his face. Tears brimmed in her eyes.

"You know how sorry I am," she says, her voice low. "I've never regretted anything more in my whole life."

"I know," he says, finally looking at her. "I know. And I know it was partially my fault too. If I hadn't lied to you about Santana, you wouldn't have gone to Puck to get back at me."

She looks down at her hands now, swallowing thickly as she remembers how it felt to hear about how the boy she loves was deflowered by the girl she hates and who hates her. She had thought about their first time together so many times. It was supposed to be special, and important, and terrifying and so, so good. But it was taken away, and from a bitchy, closeted lesbian to boot.

He takes her hand in both of his, his huge palms and fingers completely cocooning her small ones. "I don't want you to think Quinn was ever more important to me than you. Or that I enjoyed being with Santana. That night means nothing to me."

"I know," she says. "I just wish you had told me the truth. I told you I never slept with Jesse. You had every opportunity to tell me about Santana but you didn't. And then you got all crazy and jealous when Jesse came back for Prom. I had to sit and watch you with Quinn and hear it from her that you two had gotten back together, and then listen to you say you saw fireworks when you kissed her…but I wasn't allowed to see what would happen if I tried again with Jesse because he's hurt me in the past."

They're both silent for a moment, but still holding each other's hands.

"I'm an ass." He admits this. "I know I was being stupid and jealous and had no right whatsoever to try and keep you from Jesse. I just…" He sighs and looks defeated, knowing she's right. "I love you. I love you so much, and even though I was with Quinn I still loved you and wanted to protect you and didn't want you getting hurt again."

She softens. How can she not? He keeps with this streak of making her melt.

"I'm sorry, Rach. For everything. For lying and…for everything. I shouldn't have…" He sighs and lifts her chin up so she'll look at him. "It should have been with you. I know it should've been with you."

She wants to keep talking about it. About why she didn't do it with Jesse – because she wanted to wait for _him_. Because she knew even then that they would have their chance again, and the time would come and it would be wonderful, and that's why she _waited_.

But she doesn't want to push it. And she knows he regrets it and that he regrets lying and only did it so he wouldn't hurt her, and the way he's looking at her now makes it hard to think and hard to be mad, and all she wants to do is pull of his shirt and push him on the bed and –

He kisses her then, softly and gently, and rubs his thumb on her cheek back and forth, and she still can't think, so she stops trying. They smile, and hug, and find any excuse to touch each other. She puts on _Funny Girl_ and lays back with him against the pillows and mouths every word out of Barbra, and holds one of his hands in both of hers, playing with his fingers and tracing the lines on each one. She falls asleep in his lap halfway through and he loses interest in the movie and watches her sleep.

iv.

They lay out on her back deck a month after school ends. She bought these really soft blankets that could cover a king sized bed, specifically so they could have room to sprawl out and watch the stars. He laughs to himself when she tells him this, because when they're together they never sprawl. Their limbs are always intertwined or they're spooning or they lay completely on top of each other…all of which he has no problem with. He likes to think the huge blankets are for when they get carried away and roll each other over.

"I'm so full," she says slapping the palm of her hand against her belly.

"You barely ate anything." He was the one who ate an entire meatball platter by himself.

"That's not true! My salad was huge. Not many vegans eat at Breadstix so I think they gave me all the ingredients they had before it all went bad."

He exhales a small laugh and takes his eyes away from the stars to look at her. She has one of the big blankets half folded over on her legs. He sits up on one elbow and leans over her. The moon reflects through her eyes as she blinks up at him dreamily. His own glaze over as they roam across her features - her lips, pink and full and incredibly inviting. He kisses her. The intimate contact makes her shiver. She smiles at him amorously, leaning in to press her lips against his neck, deeply inhaling his musty scent – a combination of sun block, cold sweat and boyish musk.

There were so many nights in the past year where he felt so lost. And then there were nights like this one, where everything felt so carefree for him. He was with his favorite person in the world, sliding his thumb across the side of her cheek, intertwining their fingers, and whispering things in the darkness like _"You smell like peaches"_ and _"I'm so in love with you"_. And it was actually pretty chilly out for July, so she was now cuddled next to him nicely and comfortably, and anything worth worrying about just seemed to far away.

He was never a planner. He's the kind of person who takes things as they come and just tries to live one day at a time without stressing over things that either haven't happened yet or aren't set in stone. Rachel isn't like that. She's a planner. She's an organizer. And a list-maker. And she functions on bullet points and cross-offs and isn't really one for spontaneity. There's something in her eyes now that looks distant. Worried.

"What's on your mind?" he whispers.

"The future."

"College?"

She shrugs. "Graduation. College." She inhales deeply. "New York…us."

He doesn't like how she says that. Her voice is low and it sounds sad like she's about to throw their relationship a funeral or something. She sounds doubtful and he doesn't know what to say, so he just stays quiet.

"I'm scared," she says. "I know it's not coming for a while, I'm just…psyching myself out, I guess." She pauses for a second, but his eyes urge her to continue. _Scared of what? Of leaving? Of me?_

"I'm suddenly afraid that I won't make it there. And I never was before. I always knew where I belonged and I always believed I would get anywhere I wanted to go because of my talent and my absolute hatred of the word 'no'."

He's can't even believe what he's hearing. Rachel, afraid? Rachel, unsure?

"But now, the closer it gets, I don't know. What…what if I'm not as great as I think I am? We live in Ohio. There's a lot more talent out there. There's bound to be someone who's better than I am. And look at us. We even write our own songs and still come in twelfth."

"Rach. Stop." He puts an end to her mini-rant. "Why are you doin' that? You know how amazing you are."

She scoffs. "I know how insecure I am," she says. "I know I have a fair amount of talent – I always have – but I can't help but think that it won't be enough when I get to New York. Losing at Nationals freaked me out. I don't know if I can do what I envision in my mind, and if I do, I don't know how it'll effect us…and our relationship."

He sits up now and pulls her up with him. Their legs hang off the stairs of the deck. "You can do anything you put your mind to." He half smiles in encouragement. "And we…we can get through anything."

"You really believe that?"

He half smiles, nodding. "If there's anything I believe in in this world, it's you. And us. And this. We've come so far already, Rach." He swallows thickly, rubbing his thumb across the back of her hand. "I'm…I'm here to stay…with you…you know? For as long as you'll have me."

She smiles, but it quickly fades. The worry remains. "But what about after graduation? You know I'm leaving Lima."

He shrugs. "I'll go with you."

"Finn."

"I will." He nods, sternly, looking her dead in the eyes so he'll get this point across. "I will."

"What are you gonna do in New York?" she asks, concern on her face. "You love the country. You love having a yard. And grass. And fresh air. You like going fishing. And you always talked about how you couldn't wait to have your own house someday. In New York we'd have to live in a cramped apartment in a huge building, and - "

"I'll have it," he interrupts. "Rachel, listen to me." He shifts to face her with his leg bent under his butt. "I do like all those things. I like laying out on the porch and watching the stars. I like walking through the wet grass with no shoes on, and yeah, I occasionally like to fish. But I don't need those things. I can live without those things." He looks down at their hands. "I can't…I don't think I could live without you."

Her heart flutters in her chest.

"And I…I don't want to."

Flutter. Flutter. But she's still unsure and scared despite his reassurance and newfound confidence. "I just don't want to force you into coming with me if you don't think you'll belong there."

"I belong where you are. That's all I know." _FLUTTER._ "We'll figure it out. I promise. You know that saying about chips going where they're supposed to or something?"

She smiles. "Let the chips fall where they may."

"Right! We just…gotta see what happens. I'll try to find my place in New York, too. And I'll be there in the front row every night watching you in every show you ever do. And if I decide not to go to and stay here or end up wherever, you'll still be the star I know you can be. You're gonna be so famous, Rach. When people hear your voice…they'll feel it like I do."

She sees the warmth and the honesty in his eyes, and every feeling she's ever had for him beats intensely in her chest. "I love you."

"I know," he whispers, moving in to place a soft kiss on her lips. "Me too."

He kisses her again, sealing their unspoken promise, feeling the warmth pool in his stomach and tingle down his legs to the ends of is feet. Love. There's no other word for this feeling.

He falls asleep that night thinking of her and his promise.

v.

They lay on his bedroom floor with the lights off, flat on their backs, their eyes closed and hands together. A fan oscillates around their heads.

"Finn?"

He grunts.

"I think you should get started on your college admission essay."

This gets his attention and his eyes shoot open.

"What? It's summer, Rachel. You're not supposed to write essays in the summer. And I don't even know where I'm applying yet."

She presses on.

"It's never too early to start thinking about. We start sending out applications in October or November. You'll have football and Glee and school work. Try to get this out of the way so you can focus on all that when the time comes."

She has a point, but he just doesn't feel like it right now. "I don't know what to write about."

"The majority of colleges have the same general admission essay assignment – write about a significant person or time in your life that shaped or effected you in a big way. Colleges just want to read something about you that you've written. It's something from you that isn't your permanent record or SAT scores. Come on, it's not hard. It's not even that long. Double-spaced. Just write about anything."

He looks at her, pleading with his eyes to not make him do this. It's hot and he's tired and it's hot and he doesn't want to and it's so freaking hot, and-

But he knows she's right. She's always right. And she'll keep bugging him about it if he doesn't do it now. And when he agrees to try, he gets a nice big kiss so it's totally worth it.

He decides to write about Mr. Schue and the club and how they're the first real family he ever knew. Before his mom married Burt, Mr. Schue was the only father figure in his life. He writes one page about that – how he never knew his real father, how joining Glee was bad for his rep but amazing for his sanity, and how it led him straight to her. And before he knows it he's got more than two pages and she smiles so widely and she hugs him and he just kind of pounces. And then he's on top of her and her lips are so warm and all he can think about is how soft her skin is and how amazing she smells, and the mailman, the mailman, the mailman…

He leaves his essay unfinished for now.

vi.

That weekend, Mike Chang invites all the members of the Glee Club over to his house for a barbecue and bonfire. It's one of the first times the whole club hangs out together all summer. Some had family vacations or summer jobs and it was hard getting everyone in the same place at once.

He picks her up a little late, but she's thankful he's late because her brownies wouldn't have been finished. She's wearing another sundress with a turquoise sweater and a matching headband and he wants to kiss her really badly, but they're already late and Mike lives on the other side of town.

They park on Mike's front lawn right next to Santana's car and make their way to the backyard where they can hear everyone laughing and yelling to each other from the house. Mike and Sam hit a volleyball back and forth over a net tied between two trees. Puck gives Finn a nod as he flips burgers on the grill. Artie is on bun duty. The girls sit around patio furniture and immediately flock around Rachel and the fruit salad she made. Voices greet them happily.

"_Ahh, here they are!"_

"_About time you guys got here."_

"_Why are you late? Doing the nasty?"_

Everything feels the same. It's like none of them were ever apart. They all high five or hug and catch up, and sit down to eat feeling proud of the feast they've created all on their own. Blaine's there too and he shakes hands with Finn and gives Rachel a wave and a smile. Puck compliments the burgers he grilled, expecting some in return, and Kurt goes on to talk about how the dip he made has five different kinds of cheese.

He holds her hand under the table.

vii.

After they eat, all the boys, excluding Kurt, form a circle around the hallowed pit Mike dug in his yard. He collected stones and formed a circle and the boys throw as many sticks as they can find into the confined area. It was getting dark and they wanted to get the fire going while they could still see. Blaine crouches down to inspect their work. The girls go inside with some of the dirty dishes. Rachel sits alone and picks at her tomato salad. Mercedes walks out of the house and sits down next to her.

"Boys," she says with a chuckle. "They all have to act like big smart men who made fire."

Rachel smiles, looking on. "I think they're just naturally like that. It's like, a birth instinct or something. Finn always appreciates how things are built – how they're invented. He has me watching 'How It's Made' all the time."

Mercedes looks between them both, noticing Rachel's longing, happy stare in his direction. "How are you two? I mean, you're back together right? After Nationals?"

Rachel looks down at her hands. "We're good," she says, a smile inching on her features. She looks up at Mercedes. "I mean, really good. We talked about everything that happened this year, and…I don't know, I'm happy. I think we might be stronger now than ever. For now, at least."

Mercedes smiles warmly, looking at Finn. "The way he looks at you…girl, I would give anything to have a guy adore me as much as he does you."

Rachel looks around and leans in, whispering "What, you and Sam…?" Mercedes had told her in New York that they were getting closer, but wanted to keep it a secret. She didn't want to jinx it before anything really happened between them.

"Sam is great, but we're still taking it slow," she says. "Trying to get to know each other better."

"It's good not to rush things. You build trust first, and the rest follows."

It feels good to talk to another girl. Finn is her best friend, no doubt, but its nice having a girl to talk to about all this stuff too. She has Kurt because he and Finn live together and she's at their house all the time, but this is different. Kurt never likes talking about Finn and Rachel's relationships because it concerns his stepbrother and whatever the two of them do…and he's been busy doing things with Blaine anyway. She's glad she has Mercedes.

"You know, everyone in the club dates each other, breaks each other's hearts," Mercedes continues. "But if one couple out of all the different combinations that have happened so far make it in the end, I have no doubts that it'll be you two. "

Rachel's touched. That means a lot. "Really?"

"Really." She really means it. "You just look…real. Like, more than high school, you know?"

Rachel smiles and looks at Finn as he claps and high-fives all the guys for getting the fire going. The rest of the girls and Kurt walk out of Mike's sliding doors holding bags of marshmallows, chocolate and graham crackers. Kurt pulls Mercedes to her feet and skips toward Blaine, who reserved a space for them in the grass.

Finn eyes Rachel as she stands too and holds his hand out for her as she walks toward him. They settle in front of the fire, her between his legs, and he wraps his arms around her tiny body, planting a kiss on her cheek.

An iPod playlist plays quietly in the corner of the yard. Mike and Brittany ballroom dance around the fire and the patio, then break away so he can spin Tina, and Brittany drops to the ground to half sit on Santana's lap. Mercedes does a Bill Cosby impression and Artie laughs so hard that milk comes out of his nose, and Sam pouts beside them, having burned his mouth on a hot marshmallow. Kurt and Blaine laugh and swat mosquitoes from each other – Blaine feeling right at home in his boyfriend's fanatical world.

Finn watches his friends, and he watches Rachel and he smiles and intertwines his fingers in hers, thinking about how perfect things are right now and how he doesn't want them to change any time soon.

viii.

The fire dies down into a small orange glow, and the remaining wood crackles along with the crickets in the trees around them. She shivers against him. He picks up his letterman jacket from his side and fans it out around her. She smiles at him appreciatively, holding it against her. Mike pokes at the dying fire lazily with a stick as Tina sleeps atop his legs. Puck left about an hour ago with Lauren to see if he could "score some beer", but never came back. Brittany left to drive Artie home, and Santana followed close behind. Blaine had to be home early because he had an early audition in the morning, and he was dropping Kurt off on the way. Quinn left when she realized it would be only be Mike, Tina…and them, cuddling together and whispering sweet nothings in each other's ears. She was still weird about the whole thing and spent the entire night glaring in their direction.

He feels Rachel yawn against his chest, and takes that as their cue.

"Alright, man" he says aloud, catching Mike's attention. "I think we're gonna take off."

Rachel moves off of him and collects a few plastic cups up off the ground as Finn shakes off the back of his pants and gives Mike a fist pound. "Thanks for having us over, dude. We'll see you soon." Rachel slips her arms into Finn's jacket, and smiles and gives a little wave, before she places her hand in Finn's as they walk from Mike's back yard.

"That was fun," she says as they approach the truck.

"It was." He walks her to the passenger side and attempts to open the door for her, but she holds his hand and pulls it away. His eyes narrow as he lets go of the handle. She takes a step closer. "I don't want to go just yet," she explains with a shrug. It's only a little past midnight, and her fathers know she's with the club and said she can come home whenever she wants. She looks up at the pitch-black sky, mentally counting as many stars as she can see. He looks up too.

"So pretty," she says, snaking her arms around his waist.

"They make you feel really small," he retorts. "There's so much other stuff out there."

They both fall silent for a moment. Her eyes pull from the stars and stare up at him now. She can barely make out his features in the darkness. His long eyelashes flutter as he blinks and his eyes scan across the stars. She catches a breath in her throat.

"Finn?" Her voice is low, just above a whisper.

He's still staring up. "Mmm?"

When she doesn't immediately answer, he looks down to catch her stare, and she half-smiles and gazes up at him with eyes of adoration. "I just…want to remember tonight," she says. "And this moment right here." Her hands slide down to rest on either side of his arms. "We only have one more year of this. Of high school. Of Glee. I just…want to hold onto nights like tonight for as long as I can."

He nods. "Me too."

"And I know that…we discussed the future, and New York, and us," she continues. "And I just…I just want you to know that I really love you. And I know that we can get through anything now. And _I_ can get through anything as long as I have you."

The corner of his mouth forms a small smile. He wonders where this is all coming from, but loves hearing it anyway.

"I don't know why I ever thought I needed to choose between my dreams and love," she says, shaking her head. "Plenty of women in this world have had successful careers and maintained healthy relationships. And I know I always talk about all the Tony's I want to win and how people will finally give me the recognition I've wanted my whole life…but none of it will really mean anything if I don't have somebody to share it with. And there's no other person in the world I'd want to experience it all with…than you."

He can literally feel his heart warm. The way she's looking at him, and the things she just said leave him kind of speechless. He can never truly fathom the fact that he means that much to her.

She doesn't wait for him to saying anything. She just gets up on her tippy toes and pulls him down for a hug, wrapping her arms around his neck. Her body is lost in the material of his letterman jacket – it comes down just above her knees – and he squeezes her quickly before she pulls away.

"I love you," he says. He's so used to telling her. "And I'm glad you have faith in us too, and in me."

He steadies, dipping his head to kiss her, tasting pink lemonade and marshmallows on her tongue. His hands rest lazily at the small of her back, his arms in the jacket too, covering the stretch of her slim waist completely. He buries his face in the crook of her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair, the usual smell of it masked and replaced with campfire smoke.

He's got a year left in Lima. He'll find a way to make this all work. He has to – for her, for himself – he won't survive long without her if he doesn't.

And he's never felt closer to or more in love with someone than he does right now. And he wants this feeling to last forever.

He holds her hand all the way to her house.


End file.
